


Fraternal Bonds

by Ireland_Ranger



Series: Asgardian Bonds [2]
Category: Thor (Movies), Thor (Movies) RPF, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Asgard, Assassination Plot(s), Brotherly Angst, Captivity, Cruelty, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Feels, Family Issues, Friendship, Good Loki, Hate Speech, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loki Angst, Loki Feels, Loki Has Issues, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki-centric, Mental Instability, Past Abuse, Poor Loki, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Prisoner Loki, Self-Sacrifice, Thor Angst, Thor Feels, Trust Issues, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-11 10:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3323957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ireland_Ranger/pseuds/Ireland_Ranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since his return, Loki's efforts to reach Thor have been in vain. Belittled and scorned, a prisoner in a gilded cage, what will happen when Loki discovers a wicked plot? The jotun runt has lost Thor's trust, access to his Mother and has no friend to lend an ear. What will it cost Loki to regain his brother's respect? Torment? What about this young elf? Sequel to Maternal Bonds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Have Hope For Tomorrow is Nigh  
Fraternal Bonds  
A Thor: The Dark World Fanfiction Story

Chapter 1/?

It had been about three weeks since the disgraceful vanquishing of Malekith at the hands of his mother and yet Thor could not understand while she still doted over Loki as if he were made of glass. Son though she may think he is, he was a man and it was improper and downright wrong to coddle a full grown man with a record he must face alone. It only increased his displeasure that the said jotun was also a criminal, one whose prime punishment had been underhanded and escaped. Malektih's arrival, while it had provided much knowledge, had set certain individuals on the path of "overlooking" Loki's deeds. His once-brother had grown with a slyly built mind, and a tongue that could make even the most powerful of kings to bow to his wishes. Usually his victims remained ignorant to his influences, merely impacted by his delicately carved speeches and word patterns. It made him difficult to trust, to believe and it infected his life.

It was a weapon of vital use and one his once-brother would utilize until death.

But none had listened to Thor's words on the matter.

Frigga had stated that Loki was tortured for her sake, she had told him of the horrors he had endured and the sorrows that he had faced to protect the one he called mother. She had confided to him that she suspected that there was more to Loki's invasion that met the eye, that perhaps he was not wholly responsible for the deaths that fell due to it.

The hope in her voice killed Thor, as he did not wish to be infected by it, to be burdened with the same curse upon his mind. Because, if he truly allowed himself to look over his emotions, the thunderer believed the same and the heartbreak that would follow such a conclusion would devastate him.

Why couldn't I protect you? Did you call for me? Was it my cruelties and rejections that caused your madness?

Honesty?

No, the Crown Prince was a coward, and he admitted it to none save himself and it was only quick, passing and dismissed thoughts that held this information. If such ideas were to be truth, than he would have to admit that Loki was indeed entitled to his insanity. The dark prince had always been intelligent and it was easier for Thor to believe that it was his inward hate that caused his mind to snap.

But where was such hate birthed from? My failures to guide you? My waving-off of your presence for the purpose of pursing my own needs, forgetting yours?

Thor may have learned self-control upon Midgard, but he was still unable to take blame for his actions and it was something he tried not to consider. He was a victim of self-righteousness. So Loki took the brunt, Thor placed all the issues upon his head, purposely blinded himself to the damage he had inflicted by being inconsiderate and with a lack of sacrifice. He had to be right about Loki because, in the end, he couldn't accept that he was the cause of all the destruction and hurt that came forth.

It was that need for his own assurance that led Thor to be uncharacteristically cruel in his speech, in his very judgments of his once-brother. He had degraded him, abused him where it hurt the most and he knew would leave a wound…He had tried to ignore the look of shock and ultimate betrayal on that tired face at each carefully cast spear as it plowed through ribs and into the pleading heart. He had disowned him, knowing the harm he could cause.

Ignoring the agony in those eyes had been the hardest.

Mother had to be wrong.

Yet every moment, every event he saw Loki, his conscious screamed at him for his deeds, told him he was at fault.

The emerald eyes that once projected intellect, wittiness and pride were dulled, purple bags cupping beneath them in a stark explanation of nights, sleep lost to the terror of nightmares. His shoulders were no longer straight and firm, royalty flowing in the air about him as had been his dignity. Ever had Loki contained an aura of hidden pleasure at what the world birthed and bloomed, so innocent and yet so intense. He had been fragile and whole, a man with issues, but not unknowing of who and what he was. Now there was only uncertainty in his look, hesitation and the features of one who had lived far too long with no release from the everyday torments he faced.

One who had been tortured endlessly.

That was not the Loki he knew.

It was a picture Thor could not stand to look at, guilt and hurt sinking their claws into his soul. He avoided Loki, spending his days with Sif and the Warriors three as he tried to quell the knowledge that, once again, he was abandoning his once-brother to loneliness, the same crime that resulted in their current situation. Still, he tried to find other amusements to distract him from the facts. He had seen Loki look to him longingly as he passed by, quickening his steps to avoid the sight of pure pity begging to be understood. Yet even if he did so, he felt the gaze of sorrow burn into his back, scarring his being. Loki had even tried to converse with him in his room once, knocking timidly on his door, the out-of-characterness of it throwing the golden prince far off of his current comfort zone. He had approached him as if to reconcile and Thor had had no desire to hear it, cutting him off before anything of value could be said.

"Thor? Are you busy? I was hoping to talk to you abou-"

"I have things to do Loki, go find some other victim to toy with for your pleasure. I will have no part in it!"

The agony on the second prince's face was blatant, a truth far to present to say it was not so. He had tried, desperately, to start again, as if to make the prospect of speaking with him more promising. He had been so persistent in his tone. But his efforts had been brutally shot down, leaving him shocked.

And Thor had known it would bruise.

"Please, Thor, I will only take a few moments. Just a minute. I had hoped-"

"I have no time, Laufeyson, now be out of my way before I call for the guard!"

It was the use of his birth father's name that did it, that sent Loki tearfully from his room after a few moments basking in the cruelty of what had been voiced. With a subdued 'very well' he had fled and the "pride of Asgard" let him go. Thor had known it was heartless, emotionally abusive even, but he had not been able to bring himself to listen. Instead he had fled to the distraction of Sif's companionship in riding Asgard's plains, pushing the pulsing image of Loki's hunched figure as he ran from him.

Silver tears made no impact upon him because he would not allow it.

Images of his little brother as a child were banished and he looked elsewhere to remember.

But Thor, unsurprisingly, did not find the solace he usually gained in Sif's company, as she was far more perceptive than most tended to believe. It had not gone unnoticed to her, his behavior, his forced will to keep content and unlike most, she was unafraid of voicing her observations.

Even as they saddled to ride for the afternoon she kept glancing at him, firm, stark and completely aware. He could never escape her perceptive mind. He tried to ignore her as they set off, but keeping to such a pathetic plan was without point.

In the end, she was second to Loki's talents and just as he had falled often to his not-brother, he fell to her, helpless to reject the situation.

"You're only hurting yourself, Thor." She said after they had ridden long enough that Asgard's walls were no longer able to be seen in the distance. "Whatever issues you bear with Loki speak them and move on, for these pretenses will not last. You shall lose control soon."

Thor raised a golden brow at her, lips thinning from the smile they had once formed.

"There are far too many to consider, Sif, and I cannot speak them all." He grit his teeth, his fists clenching around the reins in his hands. "Loki's presence is unsettling, and it….disturbs me. Nothing more."

Sif scoffed at him, blunt and brushing his words away with a firm wave of her palm.

"Loki has always been so, that is not the problem." She turned a hard look on him, ignoring his comment of dismissal. "I have been told that he seeks you out, as if asking for your time. They say you send him off, sharp and quick, only to turn about and smile."

"Do you seek to defend him, Sif?" Thor accused, halting his horse. "He deserves this situation, garnered it with his own incompetence and greed. Do not coddle his name."

Sif's face darkened at his words, rounding on him with her horse and leaning forward so that her black hair tumbled over her leather-clad shoulders. He eyes were bright with judgment, but it was not like her to act viciously without call.

"I defend nothing, Thor, not his name nor his deeds. Loki is hardly to be considered a victim in this case." She spat, scowling. "In all honesty, I believe the jotun to be little more than a viper. There is no love lost between he and I."

"Then why do you address my deflection of him?" The golden prince inquired of his friend, blue eyes filled with confusion. "If not for his wellbeing then why?"

"So it is true?"

Thor glared.

Letting out a tired sigh, Sif straightened, sitting still and direct in her saddle as she looked off into the distance, studying the mountains and trees with a fierce and weary look within her chocolate orbs. A frown graced her features and she took a deep breath before returning her gaze to Thor.

"As a warrior I swore myself to a code of justice, Thor, one that vows to act and force my conduct into that of an objective eye. With Loki, I know he is not without his blame, but as Volstagg said, neither are we. I accept this, though I do not feel acceptance towards it." The woman's shoulders drooped a bit. "My treatment of Loki was jealous and foolish, my words as sharp as my blade and I never saw him as my companion, though I think at one time he had wished it of me. My neglect and that of many others pushed him into a dangerous isolation, one which caused him to question everything and gain a critical outlook. He does not trust anyone besides Queen Frigga and he most definitely does not trust himself. I know not if his corruption was of my own lack of consideration or his own madness. But Thor, if you harbor anything against Loki it would be better to be direct and honest, leaving him without question as to what is and where you stand."

Thor set his jaw, his mind wandering to the pathetic image of the man who he had once called his kin. Regardless of his outcome or Thor's involvement in the making of his vulgar insanity, the truth stood that Loki had made his own choices in his demise. In good faith, the reasoning behind the crimes made no difference to the guilty, for that path was not forced and nor was it instigated by anything other than free will.

Why then, should Thor feel an urge of any kind to still the worries of his "brother's" madness, of his broken and corrupted being?

He huffed, snapping the reins to force the horse forward again and Sif followed his lead, keeping pace and trotting beside him.

"Why should I yield my silence for his own sake?" The mighty prince drawled, voice heavy. "Would it not be justice for him to suffer in his fears so?"

I will not speak to him, for to face him would be to face the truth.

My play in his devastation.

Sif gave him a meaningful glance in the corner of her eye before looking ahead once more, hair bouncing with the steady thrum of her beast's tread. Her sharp jaw ground together as a habit when thinking and she hummed her answer gently, but with all the firmness of a warrior's friend.

"Loki may be lost to us, but despite what he is now, once he was of us. To leave him so distraught, especially in the state of his current mental condition, would be cruel." She slid a caring hand down the horse's mane, her fingers passing through the thick hair as the animal bucked its head back slightly in delight at the treatment. "I know not of you, but I have no desire to become a sadist for the sake of my own pride. To reach some sort of balance within yourself with a great adversary or fear is vital to all of us. I speak not of peace, but of an inward knowledge. Speaking with Loki will hurt you both, but I would consider it a necessary evil. You must be yourself and not two-faced." She glared at the golden prince with a playful smile. "And I will not have this mockery of a prince any longer. The Thor I know would never listen idly to one of Fandral's pursuits of a maid without challenging or pestering it with his own talents at wooing."

Thor laughed lightly, a wide and wry grin crossing over his mouth. It was true, most of his dashing friend's stories were absolutely outrageous, even for his taste. A fine over exaggeration of the slaying of a beast or vanquishing of a foe was always humorous, but Fandral's tales were so farfetched and fantasized that it wracked even his scale of storytelling. Often many came to listen just for the fantasy of the thing, that is, when Loki was not spinning his own silken tales to amuse. Fandral's makings were so very incredible, sometimes it made ancient warriors teary-eyes with woe and shame for the future generations.

Still, it was a better topic than that of Loki.

"Aye." Thor agreed. "Those stories are insufferable."

Sif smiled gently before her face became serious again. It was obvious that she took notice of his change in manner, trying to draw her away from her point. However, she knew him too well to fall for it and Thor had never been an excelling liar anyway. The warrior maiden was certainly not lacking in intelligence.

"You will talk to Loki, yes?" She inquired sternly, eyes losing their soft humor. "Even though it may be uncomfortable?"

Heaving a defeated sigh, Thor took stock of his choices. Sif would pester him consistently until she had seen that he had done so, as her concern for Thor was birthed through their long and true friendship. Her stubbornness would not allow him any escape. But…he had no wish to confront his sibling once again. It was too soon, regardless of the time that had passed. Thor would never be ready to stand before such a conversation without rage or guilt biting his soul.

Too many aspects to consider!

Coward! 

Speaking of his hate, his distrust and the brutal emotions of betrayal that had led him to believe in the loss of a brother, with Loki, was out of the question. Let him voice the aftershocks, the anger and bitterness that he now always displayed to the fallen prince, but never would he let himself be read again and he was no puppet and Loki played him like a master puppeteer in the past.

Feeling were a dangerous weakness about that runt.

Thor would let him burn as he, himself had at the Bifrost that day, mourning the "death" of one who, while he would return, would never be the same. A broken mirror image of who he had once loved.

Once, brothers, but now? There was too much pinned to Loki with definite and unrelenting fault that could not be ignored. The bond between them had been severed upon the coronation day.

That is all the traitor would hear from Thor's lips.

"I will think upon it, Sif." He said, attempting to content her somewhat. "Now let us no longer dwell on this, there is more to think on then such sorrowed thoughts."

Haltingly, Sif seemed to find the idea to her blatant distaste, but complied to his wishes with respect and said no more, even if it was obvious to the prince that she was not to be considered satisfied. It was just as well that he had the authority to silence her, for enough of his time and worries were devoted to avoiding talk and thought of Loki. Of course, he was generally fruitless in such an endeavor. Loki would always cloud the back of his mind, screaming and kicking in his sins, in his desperate want for acceptance that led him to them, brutal and cruel as they were.

Thor had loved Loki and even if he could not face what he had been degraded to, little more than a jotun runt, that wound would always remain, a scar for a doomed brotherhood.

A brotherhood he begrudgingly missed.

His mind was so contradictory.

"And what have you done with your elf?"

Thor raised a brow at Sif, confusion falling over his face.

"Elf?"

"The one you interceded for in front of your father?" The black-haired woman elaborated. "What have you done with him?"

Ah.

The elf that made Thor recall Loki's past self and urged him to spare the creature.

Once again rounding on Loki, as everything did.

Thor….Thor had forgotten him, that elven captive. Unintentionally, mind you, but the fact still remain that something had to be done with the thing. The prince had saved him from the axe only and soon his father would either demand his death paid or some use to be made of him.

"I am uncertain how to proceed with him." Thor admitted with a frown. "I had him spared in honor of Mother, as a way of remembrance to her had she been lost to Malekith's plans. Given that she survived, I have no clue as to what use to make of him."

Sif glowered at him.

"So he has been imprisoned since the executions, uncertain of his fate?" She sighed, shaking her head. "He is probably terrified, expecting the block."

"Indeed." Thor agreed, apologetic, steadying his horse as it stumbled upon the path and whispering to her. "It was not my intention to cause him fear, I merely forgot about him."

"Why not have him serve you?" Sif suggested, her tone helpful. "It is a far better existence than wasting away in a cell. He is young, there is much he can do."

"I have no desire to enslave him, friend." The golden prince stated firmly, meeting her eyes. "Asgard has forbidden such things and with good reason."

The woman huffed.

"Yet he is too dangerous to let free. He would hunt you down, Odinson, as your father shed the blood and snapped the bond of his kin."

"I should have considered these things before sparing him." Thor grumbled, looking to the setting sun, Asgard coming into view just below its brilliant rays.

Beautiful, as usual. The sky painted in blended shades of bright oranges, pinks, purples and blues, swirling out over the heavens. It was far more pleasing in Asgard herself, her golden towers reflecting the beams with a mirrored majestic magic. The various trundles of color reached out like fingers before being lost to the darkness of the void beyond. It was as if the city glowed then, looking every bit the home of the mighty, long-lived Asgardians. Perfection, in subtle degree, was marked upon her buildings as they stood watch and as shelter for their inhabitants.

Aye, how Thor adored his home, so very unique from all the other realms, so very eternal.

Sif laughed, her dark eyes glistening with the disappearing sunlight.

"You shall think of something, my prince, you always do." She reassured him. "You have overcome much, you shall find your way."

"You are a wise companion, Sif, and a valued friend."

Smirking, the woman gave no reply, instead striking her booted feet against her beast and sending her into a quick gallop, leaving Thor behind before anything else could be said. She had never been one for touching speeches, preferring to act rather than discuss in most issues. It was a quality Thor respected of her and it was with a smile upon his lips that he followed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm back for round 2! I know...it's been a while and I'm so rusty you can hear me coming a mile away.
> 
> Now before you comment on this chapter here's a few things...from now on, my writing will be late-night things that leave me begging for sleep, so the quality may not be up to speed, but heck, I'm trying! Another thing is, this chapter focuses on Thor's inner confusion, where he's basically thinking two different ways and he just can't decide what he believes yet. His mind is contradicting itself. He knows he's done wrong, but he won't admit it because he believes he's right and therefore has every reason to treat Loki cruelly. Admit it, everyone does that. It's like believing two things but not decided with one who actually believe...lol, confusing (psychology references abuse the mind now). So yea, if you notice the inconsistency of his thoughts, that's because THEY ARE INCONSISTANT. lol Anyway, I've added Sif because, even if I don't really like her, I see her putting off an excellent mindset for Thor to not wish to acknowledge. I mean, come on people, yea Jane and Midgard taught him some stuff, but that doesn't mean he's a complete master at bending his will and ego. Sorry, three days on earth don't do that, movie or no movie. Avengers made him out to be rather as perfect as he could get compared to who he was, with but a few flaws...but the reality is, while his outside actions may have changed, it will take longer for what's inside to actually come to terms with what he's experienced and what to decide on thinking. THUS his lack of empathy for Loki yet his fawning over everyone else...Loki ain't the only messed up Asgardian prince we're gonna be dealing with here...Thor's got major issues to work through too...because dang, NObody's perfect. I'm not a fan of Odin, but Thor's okay and while I HAVE been bashing him, I can't help but admit I like him. :) 
> 
> Anywho, I'm unsure of when the next update will be, but for now, if ya see a mistake, let me know (I'm so tired and still have Math to do sooo). Just don't be a Hitler about them okay? Any requests you want to see in this story...now is the time to post them! Ahead I see angst, drama and bittersweet tears...WHO'S READY!?
> 
> lol, read and review y'all!
> 
> -Ireland Ranger-


	2. Chapter 2

Have Hope For Tomorrow is Nigh

Fraternal Bonds

A Thor: The Dark World Fanfiction Story

Chapter 2/?

Loki, for all of his talent and widespread knowledge, could not diverge the intense thought behind this model. Built in various colors to represent flows and alignments, mathematical equations and complicated notations for degrees and percentages, he honestly wondered how any of this complex design was supposed to make sense, let alone be constructed in full scale. Despite every effort he could place into understanding the genius mind that Avern blessedly processed, Loki could not bring himself to see the fullness of his thought patterns. The aged Asgardian stood as one of the few who could outthink the trickster, a rarity and it could be seriously considered if he rivaled Odin himself.

Honestly, Loki couldn't even make out the function of the design, given that it only looked to be a mess of strings, small beams and carvings, as if someone had taken balls of string and tangled them in the broken remains of a wooden chair. Was it furniture? Perhaps a new engine to improve the piloting of their various levitating crafts and ships? So many features to add to the equation with no end of ideas in sight.

Loki placed no weight on those concepts he had gathered, especially since his help was commissioned by Odin himself, just as Avern's hands and eyes were chosen for the crafting of this task. Whatever the identity of this contraption was, there were likely to be few privy to its existence.

Whatever it may be, it held obvious importance to the crown.

Nearly three weeks had passed since he had begun laboring with the Asgardian and yet he knew little to nothing of just what he was aiding to create. The suspicion hovered in his mind that since this work was to be considered part of his punishment, the facts were not considered his to be familiar with. As what business did a prisoner have in the demands of the King's mind? Still, he knew that eventually time would reveal the identity of this artifact in process and he could say without a lie in mind, that he was not bothered by the issue of waiting.

Avern was a pleasant fellow, albeit hard to comprehend at times, what with his muttering and overactive brain, but he was without judgment in his views upon Loki and considered him with respect and without begrudging or giving scorn. If anything, the old, grey man disliked having his assistant mocked or belittled, given the reaction he had at Thor's most recent dismissal of Loki's pleas. It had been one of their more recent meetings, one that again left Loki groveling and the golden prince angered. They had been gathering materials at the time when the elder prince passed and the imprisoned magician had spared no time in a desperate attempt to gain conversation. It had been so long since they last exchanged words and while Loki was more than aware of Thor's stance being far from his favor. But he had felt the need to regain contact, like a starving man grasps at food too far too reach.

When he had been put off and left predictably discouraged, Avern had openly glared at Thor's back before informing Loki that it was high time to get back to work.

His speech had been gentle rather than demanding, like a nudge from a concerned ally trying to give something different to contemplate to an ailing companion. Compassion, when not sent directly from the heart of his Mother, was an odd thing for Loki to experience and he was more than grateful for the display. Following the man back to the workplace, Loki had dived into the privilege of his freed magic to take him from the transaction that had occurred. Odin had only permitted the use of his talent when Avern demanded it's need and being able to flex the boundaries lightly gave the prince a happy thrill.

Avern had become a sort of mentor to him, though he was loath to admit the fact for fear of rejection, and he treasured every second of in depth conversing and tactical thought the man provided. Friends they were not, as he felt no such connection between them, especially considering the age gape and situation that brought them to be fellow associates for the royalty of Asgard, but he was content about the aged being and the soothing sense it gave his brain was rewarding. He didn't mind the muttering or the occasional snapping words, sincerity was hard to come by in his world of endless torment and shaming.

Complex problems, like this one that stood before him now, was what Loki admittingly lived for. This was the first moment Avern had ever presented the full scale of what they were crafting to his attendant and it was an event the second Odinson was excited to live. This construction took his mind from places he's rather not dwell and the sheer thought put into the project was a clear, mind-blowing imagery.

"-will disperse the flow of the magical currents this pattern, where it will be utilized by a crystal center." A wheezing breath left the inventor's lips as he spoke, prodding the model with bent and knobby fingers. "Then, if we put in a proper filter, the power will transfer to the main source, igniting the explosions as necessary."

"So it's a shield?" Loki inquired, emerald eyes ghosting over the five-foot creation skeptically. "Is it for a ship then?"

Rolling his eyes to the sky the old man grimaced, shaking his head.

"No! A ship is much too small for the power this shall contain!" Rushing to a table scattered with books, parchments and scripts, he dug, searching through the mess. "Think large scale! Currents, crystals and magic to such a great extent being trusted to machinery!? This is important and bigger than you've ever imagined!"

Watching the mumbling man sort through his plans and papers, Loki frowned, brows furrowing in thought.

Indeed, this contraption was much akin to a hazardous disaster waiting to occur.

Perhaps…..

He jumped as old Avern let out a small whoop of victory, waving a blueprint on high as he spun about to face his assistant, a manic grin on his face. Shoving the piece at Loki, the prince stumbled back from the demand, taking the item from the withered hands and studying it himself, attention focused but amusement raised.

However, only after a moment of reading and his head snapped up in shock.

"That is...could this work?" The prince asked, wide eyes shining with awe and admiration, but excitement bared. "How would you contain it? Should an enemy of Asgard ever discover its location….Is…is this even possible?"

Crossing his arms in a blatant display of pride, Avern smirked, eyebrow raised.

"Oh, it is a reality." He confirmed. "Heimdall has already approved of its design and it is a commission from the Allfather, as you are well aware. None but us four shall be privy to its coordinates and should it remain in such secrecy, not enemy of Asgard should ever have suspicious of its existence."

"I am surprised that Odin would allow my knowledge of such an important project."

Returning his gaze to the blueprint, the rejected prince clenched his jaw, forcing his mind away from the unpleasant and disturbing pictures that flashed before his thoughts, leaving his currently dormant turmoil banging for release. His last meeting with his not-father had been far from glamorous and just remembering the event burned a whole in Loki's breast, like acid, painful and cruel. No son, or not-son in this special case, desired to hear such tones and sentences from the mouth of he who was a childhood hero. The crushing effect it had had upon him had left him completely smothered.

Not only had his adoptive father cast his punishment without due research into the "lies" Loki had sprouted desperately to his Mother during his captivity under Malekith, but he had taken, nay, ripped the only semblance of pure love he had had in his life away. Then to be threatened, restricted and be left once more, desolately unheard?

Agony began to build up inside Loki's skull and he grit his teeth, mood wholly ruined by the simple mentioning of a man who would never truly see him as a son, let alone a worthy part of his family.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on his breathing, Sylire's instructions running firmly into his brain. A flash of the past or a panicking tremble would leave him a dysfunction pile and as of right now, that was not something he desired. Not that he ever craved such a terrible feeling upon himself.

"I needed a capable mind." Avern stated, voice crackly, but intent pure. "When I demanded your aid, he knew your value enough that refusing would be foolish. Just keep your mouth silenced and your head twisted on right." Scrunching up his wrinkled nose, the inventor reached up, indulgingly scratching an itch. "I have already put in an order for some of the materials, however, others will be more laboring to occupy."

And that was all the old man would ever say on the matter. Straight, to the point and without hesitance, he lacked the ability to withhold his honesty when it was needed and had little to no tact in it's presentation. Yet another factor Loki could not help but feel pulled toward, considering how very small the fraction of those who spoke true were in his life. Even his mother had partaken of the lies that he had built his life upon. He mourned the inability to for a companionship of sorts outside the work area, but set as it was, the Allfather had forbidden his meeting with the man, let alone anyone else, outside of what was necessary. Given that the laboratory was outside his limits, Odin was anxious to return him to his confinement and place of carefully levelled control.

Sighing to himself, the youthful captive returned his eyes to the paper within his hands, glancing over the needed supplies for this construction.

"Drithlin crystals?" Loki asked genuinely, perking up to stare with confusion at the older Asgardian. "Would not such petty things be insignificant for a project of this intensity? We use them to instruct children in the art of channeling magic…but considering how each crystal will only take a precise current, magic type and charge…would they not be useless?"

Avern nodded, poking and adjusting the model with a learned gaze, inwardly making calculations and muttering about frequencies or something of the manner. Loki had grown to accept and remain without question on the inner workings of the inventor's complicated mind.

"Alone, they are virtually the most ridiculous object for magical properties. But take a carefully selected five hundred and align them in just the perfect setting…." He cocked his head up, a tinker's delight beaming out from his eyes and he pointed to a triangular shape in the structure. "Not only do you gain an exact method for incoming magic, but also a blockage for any type of attack a magician would make. Even the most skilled of mages would be halted because, as Drithlin crystals are so very simple, nothing could divert about or around them." Making a shaking fist, the old one scowled. "No more uninvited elves!"

Impressed, Loki gave a very small smile, basking in the intelligence and ingenuity the choice required.

"They would have to be sorted manually." He leaned against the table the model sat upon and rapped his fingers slowly on its hard surface, observing as Avern played with his mini creation. "And by someone with incredible insight to what we're building and all the magical equations that will come into play."

Straightening, Avern placed his hands to his hips, letting out a heavy breath as he scanned over the small contraption with deep brown eyes. Bringing a bent finger to his bottom lip he frowned in thought, as if trying to add a vital piece of information to the collected image before him.

Briefly rolling his orbs towards Loki's relaxed figure, he huffed.

"You. I have the equations ready."

The prince scoffed.

"Me?"

"Yes."

"But surely-"

"It would be a constructive way to spend your time." Avern cut off. "Especially with your limits and inability to do much else besides lounge about and allow yourself to wander to places you'd rather not."

Loki grimaced painfully, mental scars burning.

Ignoring the display, the old man continued unbothered and with a final note in his tone.

"Odin will not have the time to do such a menial thing, and Heimdall, for all his power, does not process such precise magical ability. I have nothing in the area besides understanding of concepts and no natural craftsmanship for the talent. You, however, a magician born and bred with more chance than half the court of mages, are the perfect choice." He tapped his nose, pointing at his assistant with conviction. "The lack of sleep and weariness your body alerts is protruding for all to see. So rather than letting nightmares and mind power rule you, do something to combat it that will prove to be useful."

Stunned silent, Loki allowed his shoulders to drop in defeat, a thin hand brushing over his pale face.

Everything Avern had said was, yet again, truth and no matter how much he mentally refused to acknowledge the facts, they remained. Nearly every night since his return, the jotun castaway had been without much rest. Terrors haunted his bedchambers and pillows, leaving him panting and tangled in a mess of sheets and comforter after screaming himself awake. On most nights he would simply curl in upon himself and shiver until dawn peeked through the emerald curtains to shine into the room, but some evenings….

Purple flashes, blue beams and violent mixtures of cries and bloody images would cloud him without release. Sometimes they held him captivated until the morn, leaving his exhausted body without any real sleep. Other dreams would cast him viciously between reality and a world of darkness as his functions tried to force rest upon him, only to be unhealthily disturbed. Often he would simply lie awake, weeping in the silence and the dark, the only comfort provided to him was himself and his location, free from the horror he once knew so well.

How he wished for his mother in those times, fear raging at the thought of promised retribution for a failed invasion.

Avern kept him occupied, Sylire put effort into his ultimate recovery, but despite their aid, crown order or not, Loki knew it was not enough.

In his current state, suffering from severe insomnia and the threat of mental breakdowns ever present, he needed excuses to divert his mind and body when alone, as he had no other place to turn to for guidance. Asgard had never loved him as they had Thor and though in his childhood that had been hard to accept, Loki had lived with it. He had known, or thought he had known, himself and his goals and that alone had been enough to push him on. He had wanted to better himself in all ways. Friends were a scarcity he could count on one hand and with less than all five fingers and while other looked to them for support, Loki had never known that sort of loyalty to the great depth his brother did.

Now, torn from the capability of self-knowledge and with no one to stand by his side with a heart seeking nothing but his wholeness, Loki was tumbling darkly and with no edge to grasp.

A broken outcast, scrambling for any excuse to hide from himself.

What a very sad tale.

Sighing quietly, the assistant crossed his arms, looking tiredly to the inventor with a resigned glow to his eyes.

"Very well." He submitted, rolling his shoulders. "Have you been supplied with the crystals?"

Avern grinned with pride.

"Heimdall is looking over them." He gave a snort of dismissal. "He wanted insight on what would be conducting a portion of the Bifrost's force in another path. I do not believe he will gain much information from them, but he did promise to deliver them promptly. I will tell him to ensure they are brought to your rooms." Rushing back over to his chaotic table situated for drawing out plans, the elderly Asgardian began scribbling furiously, hushed tones of self-chatter escaping his hunched form. "There will be over one thousand, as Svartalfheim is mostly abandoned and mining them without notice has been a simple task."

"A vast amount of crystals for me to observe and test."

Avern chuckled lightly.

"You will not die."

"So you claim."

"Elven technology and materials are rather cheap."

"That is hardly to be considered a comfort."

Avern paused, looking at his attendant dramatically.

"Unstable though they may sometimes be when channeling offending magic, the crystals won't hurt you."

Snorting, Loki lowered his head, shaking it as he let out a very subdued laugh.

"Nay, they shall simply explode in my hands if they prove to be unfitting for out purposes."

Unfazed, the old man shrugged.

"As I said, crystal shards in the eye may leave you blind, but not dead!"

Just then a loud knock came from the laboratory door and without heeding Avern's call to remain undisturbed or awaiting entrance to be permitted, a guard stepped through the doorway, armed and armored. He had accompanied Loki to his daily visit to the inventor, as was his duty, but apparently today the time of their meeting would be cut short.

"The Master Healer, Sylire, requests your presence in the healing chambers." Avern scowled, but was ignored. "He has sent a messenger to inform you that you are late for your meeting."

Ah. So he was actually late, not early in his leaving this day.

How unfortunate.

"I will be out presently." Loki informed the guard, inwardly groaning. "There are a few notes I must close before leaving Avern."

"No, you are late as it is." The inventor's head bobbed from side to side as he waved a hand of dismissal. "I am more than capable to resituate this room alone."

Rather disappointed by the blunt disregard for his presence, Loki knew well that Avern's intentions were not to cause him harm, but rather to rush the guard from the laboratory. Unpermitted access into a serious craftsman's workplace was to be leveled with the highest form of trespassing and to many, the punishment should be severe. Regardless the trade, stepping a foot in without invitation could make a man territorial and downright crude at times. Loki himself was guilty of spitting distaste and growls to those who barged in during his thought processes, ruing the cycle of calmness he had constructed. Though in more recent days he had taken to subtle outward signs of disapproval rather than speaking his thoughts. Now, the dark-haired prince spent most his time trying to collect and make sense of himself, as if trying to piece together shards of a shattered glass with no paste. Stomping in during this process, as nearly everyone had the right to, given locks were now used to keep him confined and no longer to keep other out. Chained in the evening, were someone to plot his death, Loki would have no means of defense other than those who guarded his bedchambers.

And he did not trust those men to keep him safe.

Moving across the floor to pluck his cloak from a chair, piled high with books with loose sheets of paper poking free and situated tightly in the corner between a large cabinet and a shelf, the temporary helper walked over to the awaiting guardsman, casting a last glance over the overstuffed chamber with a sigh.

"When shall you require my aid again?"

Avern bit his lip, humorously taping his temple as if the notion would set order to his inner workings.

"Well, with the task I've given you, it will be a long while before you would have it completed." Nodding to himself, the elderly Asgardian closed one eye and pointed at Loki, making a strict finality. "Return when you have sorted everything."

"If I need to consult you..?" He trailed of.

Avern gestured to his shop, as if it was obvious where he would be.

Well, Loki supposed it was.

His mood dropped lower. More days and nights to spend alone and in a whirlwind of terrible memories and terrors. Only the occasional visit to the Master Healer for an assigned, emotionally compromising conversation and a few forced dining times with the royal family was what Loki had with the coming future and honestly it seemed dull and frightening.

Mayhap Thor...

No. Not now.

"You will not see me for some time then."

"No." Avern admittingly agreed. "But the work I've appointed to you is tiring and I believe that if you were to labor long enough, sleep would be impossible to avoid. I refuse to have a constant who is a beaten body for an assistant, understand my meaning?"

Loki smirked.

"Very well, I'm afraid." In the corner of his eye, Loki caught the guard shifting with an impatient aura about him. "I bid you good day, Avern. Don't stress your work too much."

Avern huffed out a laugh, turning away to open a book and begin readings, his long, boney fingers following the lines with a fierce loyalty, an obvious symbol of his interest in his research.

Knowing that farewells were not in the old one's nature, Loki slipped from the laboratory, the guard at his heels and his eyes straight ahead. Given that he was beyond the set boundaries Odin had laid out clearly for him to keep to, the prince stretched out his wrists after fastening his cloak under his chin. Without need for prompting, the dutiful soldier snapped on the restraining cuffs before grasping the captive's elbow in a firm grip and leading him forward.

This was normal. This was the routine of Loki's current life.

Avern's home was neither stately nor expensive, but was built close enough to the palace walls for Odin to permit Loki leave, given that he was under supervision. Outside the simple kitchen door three more guards awaited, armed and professional enough not to sneer at the traitor they were charged with caretaking and safety. Pushed to the center of square the four men formed about him, Loki reached up and pulled his cowl up, shielding his shamed features from the eyes of the citizens who had once acknowledged him with some semblance of respect…if any at all. Regardless, there had been a time where his name had once held weight.

His attention fixated upon the cobblestone walkway as they tread to the palace gate, preferring the image of mud and boots to the scornful gazes cast upon him without rebuke. Taking his mind from his humiliation, Loki turned his mind to the creation currently underway and he began analyzing and calculating different methods and ways to create a cloaking device for the item.

Anything to keep his brain from the oncoming session and emotional rollercoaster that was certain to accompany it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I present the second chapter: an insight into Loki's current role. Occupied and working as he is, don't allow yourself to be fooled, he's still shattered, still emotionally a wreck and without a path to tread peacefully. Anywho, comments, reviews and the like are welcome! Thanks you to all who left your thoughts and excitements for the last chapter, I'm so happy you're pleased! Also, I still have the "Marital Bonds" poll up, so send me your votes! I don't know when the next update will be but yea, hopefully it will be soon!
> 
> Eh~I've got homework to do. :'( OH! and I'm looking for a beta-reader, as I usually have NO time to edit my chapters well enough for presentation.
> 
> So folks, what do you think Sylire is going to be like?
> 
> *currently scatterbrained*
> 
> And I will see you next time! Sorry for any mistakes I may have missed!
> 
> -Ireland Ranger-


	3. Chapter 3

Have Hope For Tomorrow is Nigh

Fraternal Bonds

A Thor: The Dark World Fanfiction Story

Chapter 3/?

It took a few long minutes before Loki was escorted within his boundaries once again, safe within the palace walls. The moment they cross the border, he felt his innate powers suddenly diminish, instantly spelled away until he might be granted access to their flow once more. The guards did not slow their pace and neither did they halt to release him from his chains, taking advantage of his enforced vulnerability until reaching the healing chambers. To have a prince at their mercy was a rarity, especially one who was whispered to be a traitor and a breed of fowl ilk. They did not injure him outright, but their actions were rough and they shoved him harshly and more times than could be considered necessary, often causing a stumble and once, a loss of balance.

He ignored their taunts, petty and practically harmless to his body as they were. They left minor bruising, but the marks would fade away by the next daylight, leaving nothing but pale skin. He had endured worse and, given his horrible lot casting, the future would most likely take liberty of gathering larger horrors to visit once again.

Until that time, he would live it out.

Strangely enough in this pattern of pushing, tripping and trying to keep eyes ahead, the guards took an odd turn, changing the direction of their march. This left Loki confused, and he tried to discern a good reasoning for the path. Dread filled him, the thought of that delayed fate of agony visiting him so soon struck his mind. Perhaps the guards wished to gift him with more than a few small injuries, wishing for something with a bit more taste and blood. Still, even if they were to strike him with wicked whips and stones, and thrash his body with branches, he would be within the limit of what is bearable. Anything would stand within reason given that it was not wielded by a monster with glowing eyes and a mocking laugh that was rarely displayed.

He would throw himself upon heated irons and coals before looking into such a face again.

A shiver graced his cloaked body and Loki stove to quash the raging emotions, instead trying to gain the attention of his escorts, who, given any other situation, he would put effort into avoiding.

"Where are we going?" He asked, lifting his head. "This is not the way to the healing chambers..."

"The Master Healer sent a message informing us that you would be meeting in the gardens today." One of the burly men huffed, not even bothering to sugarcoat his distaste of the prisoner, his spit flying as he articulated his words with force. "We were to escort you there after your work with Master Avern."

Loki raised a brow, testing the waters.

"Why?"

The guardsman scowled, crudely giving the prince's shoulder a push that caused him to stumble slightly, again.

"We do not question our superiors, silvertongue." He growled, his meaning clear. "When commanded, we obey."

Dissolving his efforts to communicate and therefore discover any information, Loki kept his peace, trudging along in silence from that moment on. He kept his head down, not even gracing the men with a view of his face as it hid in the shadow of his cowl. Mockery was a daily dosage he had been forced to intake from childhood and he was not in the market to absorb any more.

When they neared the gardens, the captive did not have to life his eyes to know they were close, as the scent of blossoms and plant life sifted through the open windows of the palace, an aroma Loki often associated with fond memories of his careless youth. Many days were wasted in the colors of that place, so brilliant and radiant in its beauty. A place of quiet, free from the leaden fears that his loneliness birthed and lay upon him. Thor and his rowdy friends would often play swords within that garnish collection while Loki watched, sitting happily, enfolded in the greens of the vegetation like a child in the arms of his mother. Even right before his fall into the void, the prince had visited, the place too alive to be passed up. Thor though, and his faithful friends abandoned it for more sporting environments as they grew, leaving the alone Loki to the company of bees and leaves.

He used to go there to work on documents or to practice his magic, before his true identity further distanced him from who he was trying to become, who he had toiled hard to be all his life...

A noble son of Odin, one he would be proud of.

Ah, the fantasy of innocence, a fleeting thing we each loose to the wickedness of this base existence. IS there no place that we may find refuge from that horrid realization we all endure, the reality of how heartless life is and how very short are lives extend.

At the threshold that lead out to the palace gardens, the guards finally bid it due time to halt and unlock his cuffs, freeing his hands at last. Rubbing his wrists, the prince was ushered forward by two stiff and impatient hands placed upon his strictly shoulders to steer him on. He gave no fight, allowing himself to be handled. It was hardly the first time someone had taken hold of him without his leave.

Sylire, bent over a luscious pink rose bush, glanced up as his patient appeared, surrounded by armed men and soothing the ach in his hands. He straightened at the sight, clippers in his grip and a small bundle of flowers at his sandaled feet, dark eyes observing the group. He scaled Loki up and down, as if seeking out wounds or injuries and, upon finding no visible harm upon him, waved the guards away with the clippers before returning his eyes to the bush. He resumed his cutting, careful as he decided which were worthy enough to be sheared.

The men obeyed without a word, taking the chains with them and casting loathing gazes at their charge as they went. But Loki, knowing better than to openly growl, paid no heed to their behavior, brushing off his clothing and directing his eyes straight ahead until they passed him by. He listened silently to the sound of the bonds as they were carried away as a way to measure their distance.

Once they were a safe enough away to be about their duties, the prince relaxed himself, his muscles easing from the strain he put upon them. They had meant to intimidate him and in return, he had staunchly shown he would not yield. The effort that left him mentally weary, as blocking always did.

He was putting as much ability into control as possible.

"Why are we meeting in the gardens?" Loki questioned, gifting to himself a pleasurable scowl at the retreating guards who had refused to answer the question before.

Sylire paused once again in his snipping, plucking the flower from the cut stem before it could fall upon the soil and be dirtied. Bringing the bud to his nose, the middle-aged healer inhaled deeply, a twinkle in his eye as he took in Loki's curious, but unyielding features.

"I am gathering flowers for the anniversary of my wife's birth." He smiled indulgingly. "She would have my head if I forgot."

The dark prince crossed his arms, a frown crossing his lips as he looked at the collection of petals and stems, uncertain of what this had to do with his presence.

"I fail to see what the use of my being here is." He stated blandly. "I have never even met your wife."

Sylire shrugged, gesturing to the plant life about him.

"Considering how much time you spend locked within doors, alone in your solitude, I thought it best to have a change in environment." He sighed at the flowers. "I am killing two birds with one stone, I believe the saying goes. Bringing you out from yourself and pleasing my wife."

Loki was far from impressed. He loathed these meetings, regardless if at times they made sense. He was certain that every word he spoke would be recorded and later retold to Odin, presented for scrutiny and judgment. This man's opinion and understanding of him would not change the mind of the King, no matter the tactical presentation and objectivity involved.

This life of work, binding and self-company was all he had to look forward to.

"I appreciate the peace loneliness brings and anyway, I choose not to strive to surround myself with fools who would only make a mockery of my presence."

Sylire hummed, as if considering the idea of believing him, the scale being heavy with doubt in his mind.

"Accept for Thor, of course." The Master Healer commented offhandedly. "I have been told that you seek him out frequently."

Loki's emerald eyes widened, his heart pounding hard within its cage, fluttering in a nervous attempt to escape. Shame clouded his thoughts. As desperate as he was to speak with his brother, the imprisoned and disgraced prince was displeased at the idea of conversations based on that desire. He had bared himself when flinging his case before Thor and to be snickered and chattered about when in that condition was a nauseating concept to conceive. Of course, he had known people had witnessed his advances, but in the spur of the moment, he had hardly cared for their opinions of him. He had never considered it being reported to the healer in charge of his care.

Was there no humiliation to be spared of?

He swallowed thickly, eyes closing in disgust at the amusement people found in making other's wounds their own jovial subjects.

"Whoever informed you of such a thing?"

"The Lady Sif." Sylire offered, sorting through his gift to ensure no bugs were creeping about before gathering the bundle up. "She came to me."

Loki scowled.

"She is mistaken." He lied, trying to ease the horror that discovery would bring, the burning shame. "Thor is an idiot who I have little desire to be about."

The Master Healer gave him a piecing gaze that crystalized his doubt on the claim.

"She was quite fervent on the matter." He added, wrapping the flowers in a cloth he had brought to preserve them for travel. "Apparently you've riled the prince up with your consistent meetings."

Anger spiked in the dark-haired man's chest, self-dignity being tested cruelly as he strove to contain his embarrassing hurt.

He did not know why it hurt that Sif would spill details of his conversations with Thor, only that he felt saddened, as if he had expected her, she who had acted as a friend to him if only to please her golden prince, to hold his secrets safe. Foolish thinking, really, as no one held such confidence for Loki's name. He should have guessed the woman would open her lips to ensure him more cruelty, given her closeness with his once-brother. It was not unusual for him to be hounded for the sake of Thor's comfort.

"I have done nothing of the sort." He insisted. "I have not sought Thor out."

Sylire frowned, running a hand through his brown hair.

"Loki…." He breathed out, as if to keep patient with a child. "There is no shame in admitting your desire to be in good settings with your brother. In fact I find it to be an excellent thing."

He gestured to a bench, located under a fine apple tree, shrouded in more rose bushes and placed there so that visitors might bask in the beautiful garden's features and prizes while in comfort. Frigga would sit there at times, humming to herself as she indulged in singing, sewing or reading, colored flowers dancing about her in the breeze. Loki too, had often sat there, sometimes in her presence, sometimes alone, but always in serenity.

How he missed his mother.

"I don't wish to speak of this." He ground out as the healer took a seat, setting the bundle beside him and turning his chin up to look at the still standing prince. "I won't."

"Why?"

Such a complex question, phrased in but a single word. However could Loki explain his reasoning to such a question? So much lay locked deep within his heart, nay, within the essence of his being, kept hidden from judgment and scorn.

Why was he born? Why did Odin take him? Why did he have to be so weak? Why could he never meet the standards? Why did the void deliver him to hell? Why did Thor never see Loki behind the madness and the pain? Why did no one ee the purity of his intentions when it came to his mother?

Why? There was too much to be defined under the word.

Tightening his hands into fists beneath his crossed arms, the prince looked away from the man.

"Because I have made no such approaches."

"Loki, I believe-"

"I refuse! I do not care for your beliefs in this matter."

Silence settled between them, as it had many times before. Loki begrudged the concept of Sylire's aid to actually bring differences to light, though he knew that the credit for the sanity he carried now was tied to the man. The fall, the torture, the imprisonment, the toll it took on his strength was immense and all his resources to remain in control were fragile and stretched wide. His mind was a patchwork composed of poor stitching, the worst quality available to be purchased. To lay helpless before such a mind of intense study was a daunting idea.

In short, Loki could not take another blow without crumbling to a dust composed of powdery madness and particles of fear.

Sylire was known for his success in cleansing all sorts of illnesses, be they abstract or physical. His knowledge was a collection of methods and techniques from every realm, with only the best heading his work in restoring the weak and sick to health. It was this vast understanding of medical treatments that garnered him the rank of 'Master Healer', caretaker of Odin himself and his immediate family when needed. But despite those things, Loki had never put himself beneath the man's hand for healing by choice, opting to escape to Eir to be tended. She was objective in her view of him and rarely spoke cruelly, though stern she might have been, what with her cursing. He was comfortable her space and she did not mind him, nor pry into his business, as she was not that sort of healer, even with all her aged wisdom.

Now, he was subjected to Sylire by command, having no say in the matter if he wished to keep what precious little freedom he had left. The man was frightening in his insight, something Loki was unaccustomed to seeing in another besides himself. No one dared to delve into the mind of the trickster, just as few took chance in speaking with him. But now? Forced into submission before this man?

He was eerily impressive and the prince feared what he should discover if he ever dug deep enough. Every appointment reopened and worked at erasing scars he had forgotten he had, buried by his mind to preserve his heart and soul. His eyes saw things that no one should see and reached into the gut of a problem before exposing the parasite to all. Loki was a being composed of secrets and hidden talent, leaving the mere thought of being bare in mind and in emotion a horror to experience. It had been just their last meeting when Sylire had exposed the fact that he truly had, undergone torture and torment beyond humanly capable, even going so far as to discretely point out a few of the frightening thoughts that had flashed through his mind during the terrible memories. They were things he had never utter aloud and even when denying everything the man found, he knew it to be true. In all reality, he had a awed sense of fright for the man, of his ability to place himself in the mind of any of his patients and open their darkest thoughts.

Loki had no desire to relive the torments he had forgotten in a blaze of white-hot agony and his only mercy was that, for all his insight, Sylire had never taken advantage of the weakened psych of those he treated. When, at their last appointment, the disguised jotun runt had been angrily weeping, the man had reclosed the wound with tenderness, giving a new view to the horrible event they had been discussing. Loki had been thankful for the banishing of such a burden on his mind, but the mere thought of another having such power over him was terrifying to say the least.

Thus his lack of cooperation and his great dislike for these required meetings.

"Let me theorize then." Sylire suggested, looking to his patient expectedly.

Gritting his teeth behind scowling lips, the prince huffed, rolling his emerald orbs away in a gesture of annoyance. The man always stated his findings in theory, giving both himself and his subject of study an objective standpoint.

Loki had no choice but to give his consent, though he dreaded the outcome.

"As you wish."

Hands folded on his lap, Sylire gave a smile, inclining his head in polite acceptance of his permission. He started immediately, uncaring if Loki was seemingly paying attention or not.

"Had you, in theory, made such a movement towards Thor I believe it would be caused by your want for the bond you once shared to be made whole." He observed the dark prince keenly, picking a rose from his bundle and fingering it's stem as he spoke. "I imagine, given all the pain that, allegedly, you suffered after your fall from the Bifrost, you would crave such security, having a strong brother by your side. Not only would he protect you, he would give you his unconditional love and be your support in many of your pursuits. Even to have him near would bring you peace of mind, because you would now that in the event of an attack, he would fight with you and you would fear no laxation on his part. He would be more of a friend than a family member."

Jaw clenched, Loki shifted his weight, looking uncomfortably off to the side, where bushes were thick and green with the climax of life.

Inside, he bid that the Master Healer be silenced. But as of late, his wishes were a thing pointedly ignored by everyone.

"Well if this is such a wonderful thing, as you map it to be in your tone, then what, in theory, would keep me from wanting to openly express such desires as you believe me to do?" His own tone was cynical, but leveled, blocked from expressing any emotion escape. "What would I find that would cause me to keep such actions to be hidden?"

His doubtful mannerisms had no effect on the healer however, as they never did, and he continued without agitation or being bothered with the defensive jab.

"That is simple." Sylire reasoned easily, replacing the rose within the cloth as he spoke, voice without a waver. "When you first met Thor upon Midgard, after enduring anguish and torture with no friend in sight for so long in the void, your brother failed to bring an end to your nightmare. Rather than embrace you and take you away from all the pain you had felt and still felt the aftershocks of, he attacked you, betraying you when you needed him most." Sylire leaned in intensely, his voice adamant and clear, as if it was he who was feeling the emotions he described. "After all the years you spent by his side as a support, he did not do likewise to you, refusing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Something you rightly deserved. You feel you should hate him for that ultimate rejection, the disregard for all that you had given…and yet, yet...though it pains you so very much, you cannot bring yourself to despise him." Loki tensed, focusing his eyes deeper into the shrubbery as if to block out the words being spoken." You feel shamed because of your inability to hate him and should others ever discover your side of the story, they would suddenly know you to have just cause to that anger and wonder why you do not."

The Master Healer paused, expression serious as he took in the patient who ignored him routinely. It was not unusual for his word to be seemingly ignored or drowned out by the shattered prince. Often it was one-sided conversations, Sylire being the host. This strong figure of a prince was little more than a child to him, Loki knew, one with wit and intelligence beyond his years, but still young in comparison. He hated this forced treatment, and he had no qualms in letting the healer know this. But at the same time, Loki was trying to discover something, though he acted in disregard.

He had lost himself upon the Bifrost and finding himself again would be no easy task.

So he listened to this speech, though the truth of it torn his heart to shreds and, yet again, he found himself teary-eyes and filled with throbbing hurt.

"I know your mind, Loki." The brown haired man stated, firm, but with a gentle undertone of understanding. "You feel like a misplaced object, different from everyone else who moves about you, much like a cat in a pack of dogs. The last thing you would have is further this alienation. It is normal for anyone to feel hatred in betrayal, yet as you cannot, you find yourself with yet another uncommon trait. You do not wish to invite more scorn where there is already an abundance."

"Why then would I seek him out at all?" Loki inquired quietly, flashing a glance at the seated healer. "With all these things conflicting each other, it would make little sense to do so."

"Because you love him. You're inability to hate is more of a virtue than you realize, as it protects that love you harbor."

Suddenly angered, Loki rounded on him, blazing with wounded pride and anguish brimming beyond containment.

"Then, in theory, I am a fool." He concretely ground out. "For why else would a kicked beast return only to be beaten again? That is not love, it is weakness."

"Because you have a heart softer than those who would crush it?" Sylire exclaimed in a calm force of disagreement. "For all your intellect, there is no shame in having a heart incapable of holding a grudge, Loki. It means only that when true joy comes you will feel it far greater than those who are or stern meat. You may have deeper pains and pathways of rough tread, but you have a uniqueness that few understand when you look upon the world. You see truth and deceit so well that it is more bruising then enlightening. You protect yourself in a shell of scorn or impassiveness, but when wounded, you bleed more fluidly than most. Because of these things, you know what is of value and what is of rot. Thor may abuse your trust or turn you out, you will always return, because you see him as worth it, as are you."

Loki gave a choked laugh, bowing his head in a vain attempt to hide his face, as tears now blurred his eyes.

"In theory." He scoffed to overshadow an onslaught of emotion. "In theory, I still look to Thor as my brother."

Sylire gave a simple upturned corner of his lip, giving a small nod.

"In theory." He agreed.

But they had never been talking of theories.

"Why am I so mocked?" The prince spilled out, putting as much effort as possible into sarcasm to cover his desperation. He was overcome by the deepness of his hurt and the pain was being viciously rubbed with salt."Why does the man I once called my own father turn his back upon me when I have given my life to trying to please him?!"

Sylire maintained his calm at the burst of emotional agitation, cool and collected as ever, acting as though the person before him was not on the verge of breaking into shameful sobs.

"People are liars, young prince, who hide in a shroud of twisted tales of untruth and bitterness." The man leaned back in the bench. "They know that, should they ever befriend you, hold you near, you would know their true nature. Consciously or not, that frightens most and so they dub you with their own faults as a way to escape your presence. You should live not for others, but for some greater meaning."

The prince shook his head, unknowing of what he meant by 'a greater meaning'. Instead, he turn his thoughts away from himself, taking and storing what had been said so that he may sort through it privately that evening, in a setting where he would be free to weep a waterfall of salty drops without judgment.

"You would call your King a liar?" Loki could not help but give an amused look over the man, though his insides still twisted with bitingly at the thought of his once-father, a man who used to speak to him of fairness and equality, the purpose of charity for those you could not relate with….

Foreign words, spoken only for the convenience of well-behaved children.

She shoved those thoughts way as well.

"I am the one known as the Liesmith, not he."

"Everyman in existence has lied at some time, no matter his status or power. To believe anything else would be naïve and I would say the same to my King's face were he to inquire." He stood up, groaning as bones cracked and gathered up the roses he had cut for his wife before returning his dark eyes to his patient. "I do not say that you are without fault, as every being in creation is faulty, but there are many here in Asgard who garner that title more than you."

Loki shook his head, turning to face Sylire fully, a sad, doubtful smirk across his lips.

"I think you put too much weight upon my head."

The healer shrugged carelessly at the comment.

"Perhaps, but I would rather think highly of you, then lowly, or not at all."

Frowning at the admittance, Loki turned dropped his crossed arms, shoulders still tense, but fare less than before. Allowing himself to reach out from his position of comfort, he caressed a blooming blue bud, admiring its gentle creation in a world where a harsh wind or hailing storm could devastate its beauty. Such simplicity in the world, so fleeting, but so very honest in its appearance. Their is no wicked intent in creation, as all merely exists to do it's task and that is all, no alternate intent included.

"What of this will you report to the Allfather?" The masked jotun questioned, his line of sight staying upon the flower.

"What I find convenient." The Master Healer replied, his voice lacking barrier or falsehood. Then, as if he had been asked the hidden question- "I do not relate everything we speak of to His Majesty."

"What would those findings consist of then?"

Loki turned his attentions away from the plant, gazing expectantly at Sylire as he straightened his sleeve cuffs, the feeling of the chains he had worn only a short time ago lingering over his skin in a ghostly feel. It was a ghastly prickling that remained with his all through the day, the horrible constriction of being bound. Chains and clanking metal was a constant in his mind and little did he had to distract him from the fact that once again, this very evening and until further notice, he would be camped in irons again while resting upon his bed.

Another night of evading sleep's clutches.

Sylire indulged in heaving an overdramatic sigh.

"You live by the idea that it is better to reject than be rejected, yet better to be accepted than to accept."

Loki frowned, eye flickering up from where he had been staring at his wrists without purpose.

"Guilty then?" He guessed, knowing that Odin would leap upon such a diagnosis so that his adoptive son might be further imprisoned, if not executed delightfully.

But Sylire's raised tone drove his mind from such pained ideas, rooting him in the present. He disliked the conflict between father and son, and bid no chance for Loki to scorn it without offering another approach.

"I am not meeting with you to discover guilt, my prince, but to find the root cause that led you to try for your brother's throne and the overtaking of Midgard. Do try to remember that." He countered the assumption without a noticeable of change in his face, passing to the threshold of the garden as he spoke. "We are finished for this day, go, and think on what I have said. I have flowers to deliver. Until next time, Loki."

And then he was gone, leaving Loki alone with the buzzing of bees and the flourishing buds all about him. But even in the midst of all that glory, the glistening of emerald eyes reflected the sunlight in a sad, but shimmering way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter for you! And now we see Loki outside of a personal relationship. What I mean by that is, he's dealing with a situation he does not like, but he also has no connections to the person besides duty. Odin, Thor and Frigga are his family and there's history there that brings out a more emotional Loki, Avern provides his mind with a stimulated experience that requires no emotional strain and there are currently no villains he has to scorn or fear. Sylire has had very little to do with the prince and yet he is the one picking at his brain, discovering what makes him tick...this brings out Loki's socially uncomfortable self, or, his attitude of disregard and distaste that we usually see in fanfictions. That witty and cunning side that all those who don't really know him see, even Sif and the warriors Three receive it, and they've known him a long time. This just shows how secure Loki is about letting people into his shell.
> 
> Anywho, I hope you like this chapter! The reviews have been so wonderful and I thank you all for the kind encouragements to provide! I don't know when the next update will be, but hopefully it will be soon!
> 
> Let me know what you think of Sylire and sorry for any mistakes!
> 
> Thanks again yall!
> 
> -Ireland Ranger-


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